


Plastic on the Ceiling

by HardTack (volatileSoloist)



Series: Moments We Relive [2]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Car Accidents, Coma, Here comes the comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 10:44:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11416275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/pseuds/HardTack
Summary: “Hit by a car, yeah?” Stuart found he couldn't look at Murdoc, and instead looked up, addressing the ceiling. “Bit poetic, innit, Mudz?”





	Plastic on the Ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> This is a spiritual successor to What Sleeping Powder Costs, and talks about Stuart's recovery after everything Murdoc has done to him. You don't need to have read WSPC, but this story makes slightly more sense if you have. Requested by commenter Tegh.

It was late in the evening when Stuart heard the news. It didn't come from Russel or Noodle, like it should've; no, they'd essentially lost contact years ago.

He'd been settling in for the night—he always was the last in bed—with a cigarette just lit and hanging from his lips as he watched the evening news. That was when the headline crossed the screen:

“Drunken Ex-Gorillaz Bassist Murdoc Niccals Struck By Car.”

Stuart was already at the door and shrugging on his jacket before he realized that seeing him again, seeing _Murdoc_ , might not be the world’s best idea.

He paused, hand on the doorknob. Out of all the band members, his relationship with Murdoc was the most… _complicated_. Ten years had passed since the last time he saw him, and looking back at all the years of torment Murdoc had put him through, he was glad that he'd pushed the bassist out of his life.

But still… what if seeing Murdoc just this once gave him closure?

Once the thought crossed his mind, it possessed him. He left a quick note on the table—“Be back soon”—ran out of his flat, and caught a cab to the hospital the news report had mentioned.

The cabbie didn't make small talk, which was fortunate; Stuart was too nervous to speak. It wasn't as though the driver would have recognized him anyway.

There had been a blaze of publicity after the band broke up, and he'd been hounded by photographers wherever he went. Noodle had been the one to suggest having his hair dyed, so he went back to brown. Covering his eight-ball eyes with sunglasses was the last step towards anonymity that he took. It was a simple thing to do, but it was enough to keep away the paparazzi.

Still, Stuart had had flashes of doubt about the whole thing. He knew it wouldn't be enough to fool the one person he really wanted to hide from.

When they finally arrived at the hospital—St. Amabilis’ Care for Hopeless Cases—Stuart paid his fare and slowly made his way inside. With every step he took, his anxiety increased.

He spent five minutes or so pacing in the waiting room until the attendants took pity on him and asked him who he was waiting to see.

“Oh, you're ‘ere for Mr. Niccals. Are you family?”

“N-no,” Stuart mumbled, “Jus’ an old friend.”

He only had to wait a few more minutes before they brought him to Murdoc’s room. Each inch towards it filled Stuart with more dread.

The nurse interrupted his anxious spiral just before they entered the room. “He's not doing too well. He sustained some pretty bad injuries from the hit, and he's been unresponsive ever since he was brought ‘ere. If I was you, I wouldn't be gettin’ my ‘opes up too much.”

If Stuart had truly been a friend, this information would surely have been stressing for him. In reality, it was just what he needed to hear. Still, a part of him felt guilty for being relieved.

With no further ado, the nurse opened the door for him, and Stuart stepped inside to confront his darkest demon.

…

Stuart wasn't sure _what_ he'd been expecting, but when he saw what lay in that hospital bed, he almost didn't recognize him. Murdoc’s head was wrapped in bandages, but the hair that peeked out from beneath it had gone salt-and-pepper gray. His face, which had previously barely betrayed his age, had a few more wrinkles than the last time he'd seen it.

For once, Murdoc actually looked his age, and it was surreal.

As he watched the slow movement of Murdoc’s chest go up and down, it really just seemed like he could be sleeping.

He glanced around to look for the nurse, but she'd vanished, shutting the door behind her so he could have some “privacy”.

He'd thought this would be a good idea. Why did he come back?

Maybe it was because of the night he left. It had been so quick, he hadn't even realized what was going on. He'd woken up in bed, dazed from his latest dose when he’d heard shouting coming from just outside his room. It was Russel, and he sounded angry. For a moment, Stuart had wondered what he'd done to incur the drummer’s wrath. Then, he heard Murdoc shouting back.

He'd barely had time to get dressed before the door of his room opened. Noodle stood there, a surprisingly serious expression on her face. “2D, you have a few minutes to pack a bag. Please hurry!”

Then she left; he hadn't even had the chance to ask why. Still, it wasn't the first time the group had had to leave a location quickly. For a moment, Stuart wondered if the pirates from Plastic Beach had finally caught up with them.

The shouting in the hall was still going on, and the sound of Murdoc’s angry voice spurred him into taking action more than anything else. He didn't have that much to pack, so he just shoved some clothes into his bag along with all of his meds before he inched out into the hallway.

That was when he saw why everyone was yelling. Russel had Murdoc pinned to the wall, one had clenched in the bassist’s shirt and the other raised… defensively? Offensively? Why were they _fighting_?

Murdoc’s face was bruised, with a black eye forming. Still, he zeroed in on Stuart the instant he stepped into the hallway.

“Oh, look everyone, it's 2D! Oi, 2D, we're friends, aren't we? Why don't you tell ol’ Russel here,” and he paused to snarl at the drummer, “how we're the best of friends, you and I?”

Stuart began to stutter, not sure of what to say. Before he could respond, Russel slammed Murdoc against the wall, booming, “No, you don't get to talk to him! After everything you done, how can you say that?”

“Oh, bugger off! If you take him away without his say-so, you're no better than me, eh?”

“Since when have you cared about what 2D thinks? 2D,” he said, turning his head to look at the singer, “Don't listen to this piece of shit. Just follow Noodle.”

“ _W-why_? Where we goin’, Russ?” As 2D protested, Noodle grabbed his arm, tugging him away gently but insistently.

“We’re doing this for you, 2D, so please come with us.” Noodle was smiling at him, but every now and then she would glance back at Murdoc, and her gaze would turn stone cold.

“No!” Murdoc shouted, and 2D flinched. The bassist turned to him, and he gave him a desperate sort of smile. “Think of the band, 2D. Think of all that we've done together!” Suddenly the smile turned sour. “You want to be responsible for the end of Gorillaz?”

“He didn't end it, _you_ did!” Russel snarled, and with what seemed to be very little effort, he pulled Murdoc away from the wall and tossed him down the hallway.

“Russel, wha’s goin’ on?” 2D was almost to the door now, Noodle still at his arm.

“Don't worry, we won't let him hurt you anymore, 2D,” she said, and with that, she ushered Stuart out the door.

That had been the last time he'd seen Murdoc until now. A lot had changed since then. He’d grown—body and mind—he'd drifted from his old friends, and found new people who were dedicated to his wellbeing and happiness. They'd made him whole again, helped him pick up his pieces and put himself back together, stronger than before. 2D had trouble recognizing Murdoc now, but maybe the bassist wouldn't have recognized him, either.

Stuart had gravitated closer to the hospital bed during his reminiscing without noticing, until he stood right at the foot of it.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. He knew it was a bit foolish to talk to someone who couldn't hear him, but he needed to get this out.

“Hit by a car, yeah?” Stuart found he couldn't look at Murdoc, and instead looked up, addressing the ceiling. “Bit poetic, innit, Mudz?”

He tapped his long fingers on the footboard as he thought of what to say next.

“And drunk, too. You always were drunk. Never known you to ‘ave a sober moment.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Not like I was much better.

“You know, I wonder, Mudz, if we both coulda kicked our ‘abits, maybe we woulda been real friends? I dunno.”

Stuart continued to keep his gaze fixed upward. The plastic on the ceiling was a little chipped in places.

“I, uh… I met some people, since I stopped keepin’ in touch with Noodle and Russ. They been real good to me, and they inspired me to… y’know, get clean.”

A small, bitter smile crossed his face. “I wish the band coulda been tha’ for you.

“But anyways, I stopped takin’ my painkillers, and when that happened… well, I started rememberin’ things.” Stuart shuddered. “Awful things. Things you ‘ad… _no excuse_ to do. Pretty sure you've abused me in every bloody way possible.”

He shook his head. “An’ I could think for a hundred years, and I would never know why. What did I do to make you _hate_ me so much? I was the one who shoulda been mad, not you.

“But you had the easy way out, din’ you? I was takin’ so many drugs I never woulda remembered some of the things you did to me, so you never had to feel responsible.”

Stuart, to his surprise, felt the beginnings of tears welling up. “But,” he said, clearing his throat again. “It wasn't my fault neither, was it?”

Obviously, there was no response. “Yeah, wasn't my fault. That's what my therapist tells me, anyway.” He paused for a minute, and found that he finally had the courage to look at Murdoc.

“You know what else my therapist tells me?” He paused for a ‘What’ that wouldn't come before plowing on, “They told me tha’ I should _forgive_ you. Tha’ it'll be easier for me to move on if I do.

“But you know what?” Stuart said, on some level aware that he was now shouting, “I _don’_ forgive you! You did terrible things to me for years, you _ruined my life_! I'll never forgive you for lyin’ to me, insultin’ me, beatin’ me, for sodding _raping_ me! All of this, repeatedly!”

Stuart paused, out of breath and still fighting back tears. “I never did nothin’ to you. An’ even if I did, you still ‘ad no excuses.”

He took a step back from the man in the bed, who still lay there, silent and unfeeling. Then again, he'd always been unfeeling, hadn't he?

“I know I deserve to be able to say to you tha’ I hope you never wake up, Mudz. I think it would be better for everyone.”

And with that, Stuart had nothing left to say. What else _could_ he say? Stuart took one last look at the man who had irrevocably changed his life, and then left, hoping he would never see him again.

The ride back to his flat was uneventful. Stuart didn't really even have much to think about. He just felt… empty, like all the hurt he'd been carrying around for so long had been poured out and left behind in that hospital room.

The lights were still off when he came back in, so it looked like his absence hadn't been noted. He quietly crept into the bedroom and crawled under the sheets, ready for the night to be over.

A pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. “Where'd you go, Stu?” Soft lips kissed his neck, and he smiled.

A callused hand brushed against his cheek from the other side. “We missed you.”

Stuart couldn't keep it in any more. He was almost relieved when the tears started rolling down his cheeks.

The hand brushed it away, and the arms holding him close began to stroke his back comfortingly. “Are you okay? We saw your note, did something happen while you were gone?”

“I'm okay,” he said, sniffling. He curled up closer in the embraces of his partners, and he smiled wider. “I think I'm finally okay.”


End file.
